the magic continues, and that's good enough
by biohazardgirl
Summary: Greendale is the crappiest wizarding school ever, but at least it's all inclusive. These are some vignettes about Greendale and its students. Lengths, ships, and ratings will vary.
1. Accepted

Greendale School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dean: Craig Pelton

(Minor Mugwump, CO Intra-state Confed. of Wizards, "Most Improved Dean" CO Wizard Conference 2007, "Best Dressed" CO Warlock Conference 2004)

Dear [student name here],

We are sorry to hear of [insert situation that would require an academic transfer]. However, we are excited to tell you that you have been accepted at Greendale School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the opportunity to continue your secondary wizarding education. Which probably takes a load off of your chest, doesn't it? Don't worry, we accept all types here.

Enclosed with this letter is a list of all of your necessary books and equipment. If you know how to use the internet, I recommend getting them used online. has great sales in August, and they'll even ship by owl post!

If you have no clue what the internet is, rest assured that we have an on-campus bookstore for most of your student needs. However, we run out fast, so really check with any muggle friends, neighbors, or acquaintances about the whole 'internet order' thing before you write off using the method entirely.

Term begins Sept. 1. Please rsvp by owl (or pigeon, if you're really short on cash-we don't judge!) by no later than Aug. 31.

The preferred travel method to school is by floo powder. If you really must use a broom, please don't make it longer than a four-seater. Our adjacent forest's elderly centaurs have poor vision, and they sometimes mistake long brooms for dragons. As you can imagine, this has led to some unfortunate accidents with arrows in the past.

Yours sincerely,

Craig Pelton,

Dean


	2. The Sorting Hat's Song

'Let me tell you a legend of Greendale'

right now for your very first lesson.

or that's what a dishonest hat would say-

because you'd get a false impression.

Greendale isn't a school of legend

or of many stories at all.

We're fairly mediocre

Though we throw an awesome ball.

But the Dean says we need stories

and houses and to make you feel good

so I'll tell a borrowed story

to welcome you to the brood.

Here at Greendale we have houses

based on the founders four

from Hogwarts 'cross the ocean;

let's take a little tour.

Around a thousand years ago

some magic folk gathered as one

to pool their resources and make a school-

and sort the students for some reason

'Twas Gryffindor the brave and bold

who taught those just the same.

Sir Slytherin was cunning;

he accepted no one 'lame'.

Then Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff

made houses of their own.

Ravenclaws were really smart

and Hufflepuffs had- um

Well, Hufflepuffs were something,

though I can't remember what.

Oh! Kind-hearted, that's their trait;

for a moment I forgot.

So anyway they formed these cliques

and everything was dandy.

'Cept Slytherin was racist

which didn't come in handy.

He split away from all the school

but they kept his house, I guess.

For the sake of pretense?

Anyway, I digress.

So when they died they made a hat

to do the sorting for them.

Much like myself except much smarter

and not smelling like a post-mortem.

I'll say again the founders four

didn't know of our school at all.

Greendale's new, just twenty-

A remodeled shopping mall.

Their legacy is borrowed

from a 'better school' so called

by high and mighty people

who don't accept you all.

But that doesn't mean you're bad!

No, we'll tell you that often here.

You shouldn't be judged for your bad spot in life;

it is them with the problem, don't fear.

So you've maybe hit the bottom

and this school is your last chance,

we'll try to make your house a home

and invite you to every dance.

I'm really not a thinker

And I'm pretty dirty, sure

I wasn't built for sorting

like the ancient hat of yore.

But I do love all the students;

to that I can attest.

Please get in single file

and I'll try to do my best.


	3. The Sorting: Part 1

The first thing Abed noticed when he arrived at Greendale was the smell of burning hair. He ran his fingers through his hair curiously; traveling by floo powder wasn't supposed to burn. However, his hair was smooth and cool, as was expected, so someone else had been on fire then; he curled his fingers around the wand in his back pocket instinctively. Slowly and deliberately, he stepped out of the fireplace, careful not to jar too many of the (possibly cursed) coals and pieces of debris scattered around on the inside. The fireplace seemed normal at the moment, but most cursed objects seemed innocuous at first, and Abed didn't want any part of an explosion he couldn't stoically walk away from.

The climate outside of the fireplace only served to confuse him further. For a room that smelled like burning, it was awfully humid. The floor was made of wood, and it was damp; it felt soft under his sneakers as he stepped onto it. It was impossible to see in the room. Abed assumed the torches had been extinguished as swiftly and thoroughly by the damp as the fire in the fireplace had been. He pulled out his wand from his back pocket and whispered "_Lumos."_ The lack of an echo helped to orient him a bit more; it indicated he was most likely in an entryway with a door close by.

Abed raised his wand high and scanned it across the room. The walls were a porous concrete (Greendale was previously a Muggle building, then), and they shone wetly as the light passed over them. The floor was charred. Abed listened closely; somewhere, something was dripping. There was a low murmur of voices emanating from behind a door a few feet away.

"Hello? Is anybody there?" he called, pointing his wand at the door. He slowly and deliberately ran through a list of defense spells in his mind while an undercurrent of hundreds of films with murdered teenagers in suspicious, dark rooms ran around inside his head and did their best to instill him with panic.

Moments later, a frazzled looking bald man in full traditional wizard garb burst open a door several feet away from Abed. He looked up at the ceiling and waved his wand; Abed felt the room dry out a little bit, and he pocketed his wand. The man smiled at Abed and said,

"Sorry that this is the first thing you have to see in the school. This used to be part of a stock room in a K-Mart and it's really been fighting us ever since we moved in. The ventilation in here is terrible."

The man frowned and flicked his wand several times at the fireplace; the fire resurrected hesitantly. It didn't warm up the room any, and it didn't look like it was going to last long, but the effort to make the room comfortable served to assuage any lasting fears of the place being immediately dangerous. Abed nodded his head at the Dean, grateful that he had filled up the pieces to the room's puzzle so quickly; certain Muggle objects could indeed leave lasting impressions.

"Was it the electronics section?" asked Abed. "I hear Apple products leave behind terrible ghosts."

"That. . .is one possible explanation-um, I didn't get your name?" said the Dean.

"I'm Abed," said Abed, extending his hand. "This is Greendale, right? I'm just wondering- does the whole school look like a natural disaster hit it or is it just this part of the building? Because I packed clothes for a more charming, quirky setting, but if the whole school is gritty and run down I want to know so I can alter them as soon as possible to suit the setting."

The bald man shook his hand, looking a bit confused.

" Yes, this is Greendale. And I'm the Dean. And, yes, um, this wasn't a great first impression, but I promise that the rest of the school is actually much better. No. . .altering clothing. . .necessary."

He smiled. Abed nodded back and pointed at the door.

"So, what's out there? I heard voices."

"Out there is . . . a much better room. And those voices are our lovely student body, who have been waiting for you so that the sorting ceremony could begin," said the Dean excitedly.

He pranced back over to the door, Abed trailing close behind him.

"Sorting? I thought the only Wizarding school that still did that was Hogwarts," he said as the Dean opened the door.

"Hogwarts and us. You could call us sister schools," he said, proudly.

"Do you keep in close contact then? I didn't see anything about that in the brochure-"

"You know, I think that's enough questions for one day. Why don't we just let Greendale speak for itself, hm?"he said, the smile becoming strained.

He waved Abed out the door and into. . .a pool. After shutting the door behind them, he scurried up to a shiny wood podium overlooking the deep end, leaving Abed alone to take everything in.

Besides the moisture that continued to permeate the air, the pool stood in stark contrast with the entryway. It was brightly lit, for one thing, and not with candles either; each corner of the ceiling housed a levitating chipped glass ball with shimmering light inside of it, and combined they lit up the whole room. Abed was impressed by how well they imitated Muggle light bulbs; clearly their installation in times gone by had been an investment.

In addition to being very brightly lit, the room was also spacious. The large pool inside took up most of the room, but there was also a decent amount of checkered tile floor surrounding it. The ceiling was very high and enchanted to look like the night sky. However, whoever had enchanted it had apparently not considered the fact that Muggle-type lighting often obscured the stars in the sky; besides a few very bright stars, the ceiling was pitch black.

On Abed's left, there were several large blue and white bleachers. Around seventy five other students of varying ages were milling about on the bleachers. They were clad in a hodgepodge of Muggle clothes and traditional Wizarding sensibilities, and their age range (which Abed knew went from age 14 to age 20) made their body types, facial expressions, and cliques even more variable. They stared at Abed expectantly as he walked over to the sign that said "Sorting Here" at the foot of the steps of the podium.

There were very few other unsorted students. Abed wasn't surprised; he assumed most people didn't transfer during the middle of the year. He counted them up- six extremely different looking people, and every one of them looking as lost as he felt. He smiled inwardly; a ragtag ensemble- he could work with that.

Behind the podium, the Dean was fiddling around with something. With a flourish he extracted a dirty, old top hat. He walked down the steps, and conjured a rickety looking footstool from thin air. He placed it at the foot of the steps, and put the hat on top of it. The he scurried back up the steps with glee, and sat on the podium again. He pointed at his throat with his wand and said, "_Sonorus._ Welcome, students of Greendale, to our sixth bi-annual sorting!"

Everyone winced simultaneously in response to the deafening noise. The Dean hurriedly pointed his wand at his throat and rotated it as if he were lowering the volume on a radio. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry about that! Anyway, it's very exciting to see all of you here- we love having new students. Don't we, sorting hat?"

He aimed the question at the tattered hat; it didn't respond. The Dean frowned, and waved his wand. The hat made a sound like a yawn. The brim of it wiggled like it was stretching.

"What's that, Craig?" it said, sleepily. Then it scrunched itself up violently and popped up again. "Are those the new students?"

The people around Abed were beginning to chat and giggle. Abed laughed too- a bit too loud, apparently; one of the students in his group looked up at him pointedly from the note he was intently writing on a small piece of parchment in his palm. He sighed, glanced down at his note again, nodded, and charmed it into thin air as the Dean said in an exasperated voice,

"Settle down, everyone. Yes, hat, those are the new students. And we're very excited to see them, _aren't we_?"

"Yes, very excited."

"Good. Now, how about you sing that song you've been thinking up so we can get this ball rolling?"

The hat made a sound like it was clearing its throat, and began to sing.


End file.
